


mere monstrosity

by nightwideopen



Category: Marvel
Genre: Bingo, Blood, Clint Barton Bingo 2019, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Full Moon, One Shot, Post-Endgame, Slice of Life, Vampires, Werewolves, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 20:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: Clint trusts her more than anyone, and that’s scary, but she loves him, too. He says it’s a wolf thing, Natasha thinks it’s just a Clint thing.I’m yours, he’ll say. I’m only yours.And she can’t help it if she gets caught up in the moment as well, sinks her teeth into him and says, You’re mine.





	mere monstrosity

**Author's Note:**

> so i accidentally wrote another werewolf fic D: but that's okay because i love the winter/fall feel of them and i love writing soft moments like these. there are like... two allusions to canon but i tagged this as post endgame because that seems most fitting
> 
> Title from Moment's Silence by Hozier
> 
> **Square filled: Werewolves/Vampires**

Tony had once said that she and Clint were a match made in heaven, the two of them. They’re complimentary in every way. Yin, yang. Natasha was inclined to agree at the time, if the way they couldn’t keep apart was any indication. He’d known her long before she knew herself and she could see past each and every one of his walls. But for a long while she stopped believing it. Clint withdrew for reasons unknown and Natasha wasn’t going to chase him. Her pride would never let her. When he came back to her it almost felt inevitable. And as their first winter alone together rolls around, and Clint starts to crawl under Natasha’s covers searching for body heat that she doesn’t produce, she starts to believe it again. He’s always hungry and always cold, never wanting to eat and always radiating heat as though he’s burning a fever. So Natasha makes them tea, cuts up sandwiches into bite sized pieces and buys a quilt that’s big enough to roll him up twice. She tells him he’s a nuisance, just like she told Tony all those years ago. There’s no heat behind it, only years of history and intimacy and the inevitable affection that came with being each other’s only equals. 

He’d smiled knowingly, and she thinks she gets it now.

“You’re disgusting, did you know that?”

Natasha is more than strong enough to shove Clint off of her and send him sailing clear across the room. She doesn’t, though. She stays still for him even though her neck is damp from where he’s breathing. He’s a dead weight across her body where they’re sprawled on the couch and just huffs at her half-hearted insult. He keeps sniffing at her, pressing wet kisses to her throat until she finally gives in and tilts her head back to give him more room. Clint has explained before that her scent is calming. It’s family. It’s _pack._ Natasha doesn’t get it, doesn’t know what she smells like to him, but if it’s anything like the way he smells to her – sickeningly sweet and intoxicating – she knows that she should indulge him. 

Clint wiggles a little bit, moves downwards and brings his mouth with him until he’s nosing at the space between her collarbones where her arrow necklace rests. 

“Love this,” he says. “Love you. Love that everyone knows I’m yours.”

He’s careful with his words, knows that she doesn’t belong to him. Natasha doesn’t belong to anyone, never will again. But Clint loves the idea of being hers and hers alone. He tells her this every time he begs her to bite him, to leave marks from her fangs on his thighs and shoulders. Clint trusts her more than anyone, and that’s scary, but she loves him, too. He says it’s a wolf thing, Natasha thinks it’s just a Clint thing.

_I’m yours,_ he’ll say. _I’m only yours_.

And she can’t help it if she gets caught up in the moment as well, sinks her teeth into him and says, _You’re mine._ His blood is the same as his scent; sickeningly sweet and intoxicating.

It takes a second for Natasha to wrench one hand from between their stomachs, but when she does she twists it up in Clint’s hair and pulls roughly until he’s looking at her with a dopey grin on his face.

His hair is longer than she’s ever known it to be, falling down the back of his neck and flopping across his forehead. It’s a product of the way they’ve been holed up in Clint’s secluded cabin for the past few months, trying to forget the years behind them that took everything and subsequently sent them falling into each other. Natasha never told him how much she loves his hair like this, but she doesn’t have to, it’s obvious. He can probably smell her reaction every time _he_ reacts to her tugging on it. So he hasn’t cut it, and she’s grateful.

Natasha presses a kiss to his parted lips, watches as his eyes fall shut. 

“Tasha,” he whines, breathless.

The full moon is tomorrow. She can feel it. Not as much as he does, but can she hear the way his muscles tense, the creaking of his bones as they ache to shift. Clint’s more at her mercy than usual, as his instincts take over and he’s not really himself. He doesn’t have full control of the animal inside him yet. But he’ll get there; Natasha will do everything she can to help, the same way he does for her. They’re learning, together. 

“I know,” she says. “Go ahead, you won’t hurt me.”

Clint shifts up again to snuffle against her neck one last time. When he shifts, it’s less than graceful, a messy change from his nose to his toes that stutters through him at uneven intervals. Even with the help of the moon, the voluntary shift his hard for him. So Natasha holds him close until his hair is thick brown fur between her fingers and his nose is a wet snout against her cheek. He’s heavier this way, but still not a bother to Natasha. She grins when she hears his tail swishing against the sofa.

“You okay there?”

Clint whines happily, then swipes a big wolfy tongue across Natasha’s face. 

She pushes him away. “Ew, gross, stop. Dumb dog.”

He nips at her wrists and pounces off of the couch. Clint is so _big_ like this, taking up so much space in their tiny living room that he nearly trips over the coffee table on his way to the door. She’ll never get over it, the way he acts like an overgrown puppy, not all there but still recognizable enough as the Clint she knows. He’s like this when he gets cabin fever, needing to be outside and get his hands on his bow. He always drags her along, both of his hands around one of hers, pouting and whining and being a general child about it. So Natasha does what she always does, whether he’s on two legs or four. 

The moment the door swings open, Clint is taking off into the woods behind the house. Natasha takes a moment to make sure the door is shut so that it stays warm inside and gives him a head start. It only takes her half a second to catch up with him, following his scent towards the brook three miles past the treeline. He’s caught a rabbit in his mouth, looks for all the world like a wild animal splashing around in the water.

Natasha kicks off her shoes and sheds her sweatshirt and is sure that she doesn’t look much better.

It doesn’t take long to wear him out. Natasha darts in and out of the trees, sneaking up on Clint and pinching his side before taking off again. He gives chase every time, barking happily. Eventually she lets him catch her, and they collapse into a pile of leaves, Clint’s tongue lolling out of his mouth over sharp teeth.

He could kill her if he wanted.

Clint drapes his big, warm wolf body over Natasha and catches his breath as he shifts back. It takes a few minutes, but then he’s human again. He’s all tousled blond hair and bright blue eyes, six feet of retired Avenger and giddiness.

“Hey.”

Natasha smiles. “Hey yourself. You smell like dead rabbit.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees regretfully. “I gotta be honest, that does not taste good. Like, at all. I wish I could make myself _not_ do that.”

“You’ll learn.”

Clint stands up, reaches a hand out for her to take. The air’s cold, now that they’re not pressed together from head to toe, and he starts shivering immediately.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you inside before you catch a–” Then he shakes his head, remembering. “Right, no, sorry. Don’t have to worry about that anymore.” 

Clint laughs. It’s an empty laugh. The smile falls from his face. 

Natasha darts off and is back in an instant, holding the sweater she’d deposited earlier. She drapes it carefully over his shoulders and Clint ruefully accepts it. He hates this, she knows he does. She hates it, too. They’re not themselves, they never will be again. 

“It’s okay, Clint. We’re okay.”

They walk back silently, Clint’s teeth chattering the whole way. It’s really not _that_ cold – not that Natasha can tell – so she suspects it’s something else that has him shaking, manifesting itself in a bone-deep chill.

She tucks him into their bed, sheds her soil stained clothes and follows. After a few moments, Clint laughs again. The smile eases its way back onto his face and he sits up, maneuvering Natasha so that her back is to him.

“You have leaves in your hair.”

Natasha settles against him, lets him clean her up until the tension melts from her muscles. Maybe she’ll be able to sleep tonight, hopefully more than a few minutes. It’s been months since she closed her eyes and dreamt, even longer since she felt tired enough to do so. More than anything else, it reminds her of just how inhuman she is, even more so than she was before.

They’re quiet for a long time after Clint has removed all of the leaves from Natasha’s hair, not saying a word, even as they curl around each other. She can tell that he’s trying to stay awake.

“Sleep,” she whispers. “I’ll be fine.”

Clint shakes his head, hides his face in her neck.

“Would you rather be dead?” Natasha asks bluntly. “Would you rather I live a life without you or you without me? That was our only other option. We’re here now, we’re okay. Let that count for something.”

“Sorry.”

Natasha stays quiet, knows that words won’t change his mind. It’s the moon, she tells herself, it’s messing with his usual contentment. He’s the one who told her first that having each other like this is better than not having each other at all. It was the tough love she needed at the time, the only sentiment she could bear to swallow. But that’s not what Clint needs. He just needs to be held, just needs to make it to tomorrow. So she runs her fingers through his hair, over and over until his shaky breathing evens out and he’s asleep. 

The nights don’t seem so long anymore, not if she closes her eyes and pretends she can sleep, too. She’s learned how to make it less agonizing, how to focus on Clint’s breathing, to move with him every time he shifts in his sleep. She monitors his heartbeat with her over-enhanced hearing, keeps careful watch for any signs of distress. She’s learned how to soothe him from the nightmares before they wake him up. 

In the dead of night, Natasha often thinks of when they met, the night that Clint risked it all – risked his job, his reputation, his _life_ – to take a chance on her. She wonders if he knew then what would happen, or if he had simply hoped in that stupid way that he does sometimes, that it would all work out. Relatively speaking.

Because it’s easy to say _what if_. It’s easy to turn over every possible outcome of all the things that almost took her own life over the years. Any moment could’ve been her last. The last time she was human was almost her last. Yet here she is anyway, against all odds. And it almost feels wrong, almost feels unfair. 

But, as she often does, she remembers. Natasha remembers not to take a moment for granted. She’s living on borrowed time. Clint was supposed to kill her that night, and every moment since then has been a gift that he’d given her. 

So she pays it back to him by making sure he doesn’t accidentally blow himself up with one of his own arrows or burn down his cabin trying to make cereal.

Natasha watches Clint sleep, presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I don’t mind being like this,” she whispers when the sun finally starts to rise, “if it means I get to have you.”

But he hears, of course he does. Her voice is a dog whistle to him. 

Clint hums. “That’s sweet.”

“Shut up.”

He smiles, blindly reaching between them to run a thumb over the necklace that lies haphazardly over Natasha’s throat. She thinks her heart would speed up if it could. It used to. It was the one thing she couldn’t control when she was around him; the traitorous uptick of her heartbeat when he so much as looked at her.

“Yours,” he mumbles sleepily. 

Natasha agrees, “Mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/616clint).  
> This is my [Tumblr](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com).  
> And here is a [shareable post](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com/post/185025174099) for this fic.  
> Comments and kudos are beyond appreciated. Thank you for reading!


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